Selfish Good Deeds
by Tiliapetiolaris
Summary: After the war Harry leads a seclusive life. Can a meeting with an old class-mate, aka Draco Malfoy, convince Harry to take up a more active part in wizarding society? Rated M because of sexual themes. Ignores Epilogue. Disclaimer: I don't own the Harry Potter Series.
1. Chapter 1

The bus came to a squeaking stop. It was a normal muggle bus, crowded with mostly older people, who mumbled complaints about the driving abilities of the driver and the delayed bus schedule into their bags. Simultaneously they educated handkerchiefs and honey sweets about the decline of society.  
At the next stop a young, Greek looking, woman boarded with a perambulator, heaving the vehicle through the middle door with some difficulty and cherry red cheeks.  
Harry just stood up to help out, when she managed on her own and pushed her baby in the designated area, grumbling under her breath, too, about the decline of society and glaring at the staring passengers near her.  
Settled again, Harry picked his book back up and continued to read in the colourful tome Hermione gave him for his birthday.  
Unfortunately it wasn't 'Hogwarts: A History'. He read that one already, after an episode of immense post war and thus post Hogwarts homesickness. Harry finally decided to honour his memories by indulging Hermione without telling her.  
Harry flattered himself by assuming she gave up on the notion to force that particular knowledge on Ron and Harry, because of their stuborness, and, due to her weird logic, she just skipped to a different field of ken: the Ministry of Magic.  
This time Harry had received an autobiography written by a former Minister of Magic and also former head of the Department of Magical Games and Sports: Joachim Thunderhad.  
Harry wanted to read at least the first chapters, because he expected his knowledgeable friend to ask about it during the visit. While deciding that the narrator, who in his youth had been a former chaser for the English Quidditch team, had also been a self-absorbed and rather good looking prick, Harry looked forward to frolic with the toddlers of the Weasley family. The topics might seem too far away to be associated, but Harry wasn't as surprised as he should have been to identify Thunderhad as a big noisy, though talented, child, that happened to be able to become the head of the ministry due to his popularity. The differences between Thunderhead and any other child were his height, the augmented hair growth and Harry's inevitable shudder at the image of playing GoFish with the ancient guy of 109, using biscuits as rewards. Though he admitted that Thunderhad would probably love that.  
His mind is dragged easily to the gang of trouble-makers. Ron's gentle Rose, Bill's princess Victoire, George's mischievous Fred and of course, Teddy, who seemed to apply his current character to his outer appearance and vice versa, the oldest participant and sachem of their screaming rampages.  
Andromeda had smiled pleasantly at him, when he offered to take Teddy in. At her refusal Harry had felt quite offended, but on the other hand he had nodded in understanding, when she had told him about "slaying a dark lord didn't make a good parent" and "you are too young to apply your schedule to a child". All valid excuses for her to keep her grandchild close, without having to tell Harry directly that she wanted to keep Teddy.  
The gain of the very polite demeaning of his character, was the opportunity to tease her about big, pure-blood hearts. As expected he earned disdainful looks and sometimes even a cold stare with a twitching lip, which reminded him of Malfoy at his best times, when he was surrounded by his cronies making fun of Harry. The glorious ages of a lifetime Harry felt he had left centuries ago, instead of just a few years.  
Rose turned two. Ron and Hermione held a party for her and the family at their home in the outskirts of Bristol. It was a really nice day, too.  
He glanced at the huge white rabbit he bought as a present for Rose and didn't bother to wrap due to the 50 cm height. Instead he put a red ribbon on it.  
It had been quite the mission to get just the right rabbit by visiting about twenty different shops in London, but in the end Harry was content with his choice. Hermione held a strict "no magic" rule concerning toys, that was heartily ignored by George with a juke box rattle for her first birthday, which switched to any song in the magical top ten chart list, if shaken. Unfortunately Rose noticed pretty early, the shift in attention towards her every time the rattle played 'Oh My Chosen One' by Celestina Warbeck, an exceptionally embarrassing song about Harry without a direct hint on his person and thus lawfully 'unappealable' ("pick me, pick me to pick you, pick me, pick me to pick you").  
Harry squirmed in expectation to see his friends and family again. Since 8 am Harry had managed to be overly excited. Pacing through the rooms, changing the colouring of the rabbit's ribbon fifteen times (the level of obnoxiousness showed at the maximum of seven colours including black and white that Harry is aware of) and glancing every five minutes on his watch, Harry almost had driven himself mad.  
Faced with the upcoming family gathering he had felt the loneliness of Grimmault Place silently screaming at him from every ancient family heirloom's surface. The place was pure-bloodily huge and embarrassingly dusty in some areas. He only used the kitchen, living room, the bathroom next to his bedroom and the bedroom itself, leaving too many rooms uninhabited. But he didn't move away to a smaller flat, feeling nearer to Sirius, by staying in the house they had lived in together, if only for a little time.  
Harry knew that his clinging to the past was somewhat alarming, especially to his more motherly friends, like Hermione and especially Molly. But after the end of the war he noticed, that he lost his interest in his future and resigned to watch others going about with their lives.  
Ginny had married Dean a year ago and Ron and Hermione had established their own lives, There had been only the spot of the crazy uncle left (well the secluded crazy uncle; you can't beat George at being crazy).  
Nevertheless crazy, secluded uncles only showed up once in a while. Harry would take pride in full-filling that role, until he found a different path to take.  
After lunch he couldn't stay at Grimmauld Place any longer and had gone out, hoping he could waste some time until two o'clock. He had apparated to Bristol to spend some time looking at shop windows, but instead he walked one time around a stinky lake in a park. Musing and listening to the faint traffic around him, he finally had had the idea to use muggle public transportation to Ron and Hermione.  
He had looked up the bus route, which killed some time, and now was seated in a white and blue bus with a very ordinarily risky bus driver, ticket in hand and white rabbit on the seat next to him.  
Harry observed how the dark haired lady walked to the front to get a ticket and quickly averted his gaze when he noticed himself staring too much.  
The green eyes shifted back to the front when the voices of the impulsive mother and strained driver rose to a volume that made it very easy to follow their conversation. Well, more like heated argument.  
The mother waggled with a fifty pound banknote, while the bus driver patiently explained to her, that he wasn't able to give her the change cash-based, but could give her a credit voucher, which she would be able to change back into pounds in the bus company's head quarters.  
Throwing her impressive, black, curly hair back she proclaimed to stay in the bus with her baby no matter what and that she didn't care if he would get the police, she wouldn't accept the voucher, though.  
Bemused Harry wiggled in his seat and the woman glanced at her finger nails, when the bus driver enquired incredulously, if he really should call the police for this. It was like a soap opera.  
After a minute of nervous glancing around by the other passengers a tall blonde man in a well fitted grey suit strode towards the driver's box. Harry couldn't take his eyes from the lean figure, who took a black leather wallet from an inner pocket of his jacket with elegant and ostensible practised movements.  
"I'll buy the ticket for her." the soft words travelled through the rows, easily reaching Harry's ears.  
Puzzled at the familiar drawl Harry stared at the man, who turned around to give the ticket to the woman, it was none other than Draco Malfoy.


	2. In the Bus pt 2

**In the Bus pt. 2**

"Here you go."

Surprised the mother needed some time to process the situation. After several gazes, which alternated between the ticket and Malfoy, she thanked him with flowery words and a weird expression of disbelieve and happiness. Malfoy just nodded regally at her, a small smile tucking at his thin lips and sat down two rows in front of Harry.

Harry was confused. Who had the guts to polyjuice into Draco Malfoy and do Muggle stuff, like riding by a Muggle bus and using Muggle money? This conduct would have been impossible for the snotty brat back in school.

Curious, he locked the rabbit under his arm and went to stand next to Malfoy's seats while the bus rumbled through the roads of Bristol.

"Malfoy?" Harry had to ask. Malfoy's stern frown looked back.

"Hello, Potter." His voice sounded a little suspicious, but Harry decided it would be foolish to not expect animosity, after they spent enough unfriendly experiences, while being on different sides most of the time. He shouldn't shy away now, when he finally had the chance to get in touch with a person, whom he almost killed, especially after the world was cleansed of Voldemort's hatred and presence.

"Just now, that was really noble of you." Harry waited shortly for an answer and then added: "May I sit down?" Malfoy scanned him head to toe and in the end nodded slightly. "Sure. Help yourself."

Harry grinned enthusiastically and squished into the seat next to him, rabbit on his lap. "How have you been after school?" Malfoy deepened his frown and drawled in a bored voice.

"Don't you read the Prophet? They tend to write about every sneaky step I take." Harry smiled sheepishly at him and blushed. It still felt really uncomfortable to have such a huge amount of people following his every step with curiosity. Be it made up or real stories, the public eye swallowed every possible colour of their saviour and couldn't find something wrong with it. They accepted the rebel, the nice guy and even the angry one, sometimes he felt like he couldn't fail. It was very scary.

"Well, no. I avoid the public. I keep from it and try to keep them away from me. I didn't like to read in the morning about what I had been doing the evening before.

"You know." He added pathetically. He remembered Malfoy being the main topic while the trials were on after the war. But the paper had only been able to write about his past, not his present, because the Malfoys were held custody until the sentence. Right now they were able to follow him around everywhere. Harry's experience with the harpies of journalists told him that Malfoy was a target to go after when the world didn't have any earth quakes or other catastrophes to quench the disturbing desire of the public for shocking news and something to complain about. Draco Malfoy would be the poster boy for the decline of society, Harry mused. A little suspicious he watched out for beetle like persons, who might eavesdrop.

Malfoy didn't respond right away, but stoically studied something straight ahead, ignoring Harry with his body language as much as possible. "Not really."

Harry pondered if he possibly annoyed Malfoy, but so far he was spared of any petty insults, so he continued, voice friendly. "If they switched their sole focus on you, I might reconsider to subscribe again."

Finally Malfoy showed an amused expression, he even turned his body slightly towards Harry and smirked. "You're that interested in me? Well, Potter, I wouldn't recommend this scandal sheet as a trustworthy source on my whereabouts." His grey eyes pierced fiercely into Harry's green ones. Malfoy draped his arm over the backrest of the seat in front of him shifting his frame nearer to Harry and talking with a seductive mumble, which Harry had to strain his ears to hear over the bus' noises.

"You might want to consider myself a much more reliable reference concerning this topic."

Harry's breath caught slightly when Malfoy's gaze lingered on Harry's lips. He wasn't quite sure, if Malfoy was aware of the silent interest he showed, or if he just wanted to rile Harry up.

Harry started to open his mouth, even though he hadn't decided yet what to say. Maybe Harry was even too far into his own world of daydreams to analyse the innuendo correctly to get anything the former Slytherin might want to tell him. Malfoy spared him the response, by inching even closer.

"How about we meet for dinner some time next week? We could catch up and start over." He stretched the last words, hinting at their past, which flashed a few pictures in the back of Harry's head, memories of fire, snow, brooms and the forbidden forest.

At first Harry was too flabbergasted to respond, licking his lips and drawing the other man's eyes towards his mouth again. With a little tingling feeling in his toes he first nodded and then cleared his dry throat.

"I think that would be nice." Harry's face flushed. Surprised by his own wits Harry suggested quickly "How about Wednesday at 7? We could meet at the Academy."

Without further pondering Malfoy flashed him a smile. "Sounds great." He pushed the button to signal his egress at the next stop. "Would you mind letting me out?"

Harry stared dumbfounded by the velocity and unexpectedness of their encounter, until it dawned on him that the bus was slowing down and Malfoy wanted to leave the bus. With a mumbled excuse he stood up and stepped aside to let Malfoy pass.

The blonde brushed his chest along Harry's side, enabling a faint cloud of masculinity to enter Harry's nostrils. It was an earthly, still delicate smell and perfected Malfoys appearance to an extent that Harry wondered, if it was connected to some pure blood custom like a cologne ceremony. Gold robes and many sprinklers around a boiling cauldron, with Snape being the only dark spot swallowing the light while concocting a fragrance to lure in people. Only those with money of course and proper pedigree.

Malfoy left the bus, chuckling at Harry's transfixed expression with a cheeky "Bye, Harry" and a wink.

Staring after him as long as possible, Harry shook his head in wonderment. He wasn't sure why it happened. A heavy cloud pressed onto his eyes and forehead, his heartbeat played dubstep in his throat and Harry felt strangely alive for the first time in years. With sweaty hands he grabbed his wand needing the rush of magic to ground himself.

Harry Potter had a date on Wednesday.


	3. In the Street

Late afternoon on Wednesday Harry found himself slouching around a secluded alley in Bristol much too early for his appointment. Again. Nervous hands brushed over his newly acquired attire under his black coat.

Remembering Draco's fine suit the other day he decided on dark trousers with a matching sports jacket and an anthracite coloured shirt. Very sophisticated in Harry's opinion. Maybe even too much, because he felt entirely overdressed and a little like a liar.

Since Hogwarts he built up some muscles by eating more and regular sportive activity, like garden Quidditch. But still Harry remained more on the slender side, though with strong shoulders and slightly broader hips. When Hermione commented on his hips in comparison to Ron's to explain Harry's marvellous abilities on a broom, he felt conscious at first. But soon he made peace with his slightly broader hips due to his lowered centre of gravity and thus less likelihood to fall off a broom during something daring.

Additionally he bought new glasses after he stepped on his older ones during the cleaning of his bedroom. They were still black, but this time had a square frame, giving his face a friendly edge.

Despite his external growing up over the years, Harry didn't feel like he was quite there yet to be a fashionably equal to Draco Malfoy.

The air was cold and windy in Bristol, Harry put up his collar, stepping out into the livelier street. The trees rustled, beginning to lose their leaves. Harry's hair was whipped around, but it didn't worry him, because it would end up looking like before anyway. One of the benefits of his natural hairstyle.

Only five minutes early, he arrived in front of the main gate of the Academy, glancing at his watch and then at the surrounding area.

Just a few moments later he saw a blonde man approaching in a long bright coat. His hair was dancing with the wind and his cheeks were a bit rosy. Draco looked cute.

Harry welcomed him with a warm smile and held out his hand. The other man looked at it first and then removed a leather glove to shake it.

"Good evening, Draco." The blonde man just watched their clasped hands a little longer before he answered "Good evening. Harry." He eyed Harry further, taking in the appearance of Harry, probably deciding if they could be seen together in public.

Harry seemed to pass the inspection, because Draco pulled his other glove off and started speaking again. "So where are we going? I gathered you had a location in mind when you invited me."

Harry flashed him another toothy grin letting it slide, that in fact Draco invited him first. He took a light hold on Draco's forearm and pulled him in their destined direction. Very quickly Draco wriggled his arm from Harry's grip, but stayed next to him on the pavement.

Surprised by the sudden suggestion to go out eating, Harry had settled for an Italian restaurant that he frequented quite a bit. The atmosphere and service in the _Dolce Vita _was very welcoming and transmitted the feeling of Harry's preconceived picture of a Mediterranean restaurant. The walls were terracotta coloured, framed by dark wood. The chandeliers held imitations of candles and suspended a warm orange light over the tables and costumers.

Harry went in first, greeting Anna, the wife of the owner, warmly and then introduced Draco. He took Draco's coat. After scooting out a chair for Draco, he sat down at his regular table in the corner and looked expectantly at the still standing man in front of him.

Draco had grabbed a hold of the prepared chair and squeezed the rest until his knuckles turned white. With the muscles straining along his jar, he pressed through his teeth "Where is your cuddly white companion today?"

Harry tried to let his eyes twinkle mischievously, ending up with a wink at Draco. "I passed him to someone needier."

The angry flush left Draco's face, leaving it as pale as the moon on a cold clear night. "Did you? And here I thought you cherish your dates."

"What?" Harry wondered how he managed to fall into that trap, it seemed so far fetched to speak of a present like a friend. Additionally Draco's frigid attitude made him nervous and he wondered, if it was a good idea to meet after all. Standing up again he faced Draco with his most sincere expression. "I am not like that. You should know."

"You think we are close enough for me knowing about your possible fickleness?" Staring into each others eyes the air around them charged with prickling energy.

Harry examined the grey irises. They were really pale but the specs in them, hinted at a depth of hidden agendas and memories worth exploring.

Harry remembered their experiences together very well. Harry's testimony on the Malfoy's trials, their encounter in the room of requirement, Malfoy Manor, the bathroom up to their firsts moments that defined their relationship during school. Harry hoped those years of disdain had to count for something good at last.

"We tried to kill each other and we saved each other. How close do you want to get before I'm allowed to tease you back?" Harry tried to keep the anger from his words, but didn't succeed very well.

In reaction Draco stepped back a little, letting go of the chair and lowering his gaze.

After a moment his gaze burnt into Harry's, challenging "Well. Let's test how well you cope being _intimate_ with a Malfoy, Potter."

And contradictory to his words the cold Malfoy armour was restored within milliseconds. Freshly out of the mental freezer, Draco finally sat down at the table. Harry followed swiftly pondering the challenge Draco put him up with. He didn't quite know, if it was appropriate for him to feel this giddy, but realised that his solitude the last years probably took its toll now in form his lack of social grace and the handling of Draco's cranky attitude.

They thankfully got the menus from the waitress and skimmed through the options.

Harry broke the silence when the drinks stood in front of them. "So, are we going to play 20 questions or something?"

Draco took a sip of his gin tonic elegantly before shaking his head a little. "I don't think I know what you mean."

Harry leaned back and folded his hands in the front. "We ask and answer questions. To get to know each other."

Draco smirked at him, raising an eyebrow. "So we are close, but don't know each other. I'm impressed, but you are Wonder Boy, aren't you. What doesn't make sense in your presence."

Harry wasn't naive enough to miss the malice behind this statement. "Well I know now, that you aren't the forgiving type. That's progress, don't you think?"

Draco rolled his eyes and snarled "Everything between us up till now is progress, Potter. We didn't hex each other since we arrived, I suppressed every statement on your mental health that popped into my head since you stood in front of me with a huge cuddly toy bunny and I keep you pleasant company, although you most definitely do not meet the required blood status."

To Draco's surprise Harry laughed, enjoying the banter. "Still going on about that? I hoped with Voldemort's death you lot started to think for themselves. At least the more intelligent ones." Personally Harry gave up on Goyle a long time ago, but wisely restrained from sharing that epiphany with Draco.

"Are you implying that I'm stupid?" Draco's snarl dragged his heart to the soles of his feet at the speed of light.

After a few seconds of recovery, Harry opened his hands towards the ceiling in mock surrender. "I could built a house at the end of the evening with the amount of bricks I'm dropping." He forced a smile, hoping Draco would get his apology. When Draco stayed put in his chair nursing his drink Harry calmed down, retracted the missing muscle into his chest and decided to give it another try.

"So why were you riding by muggle bus?" If he hoped the question would put Draco more at ease, he was disappointed. Draco's movement to restore his glass on the table became stiff and he brushed over his jacket to gain more time, before he answered. "You certainly started early not reading the prophet. The trace is back on me." He looked to the side talking downwards. " That reminds me, please refrain from using magic while being with me. They haven't been very forgiving in the past."

"Wait!What?" Harry almost skyrocketed out of his chair leaning forward. "When did that happen? Weren't you free of all charges after a year of community service?"

Draco turned back, leer in place. "Where the hell have you been this whole time, Potter? On the moon? Do you even care about anything or anyone at all other than yourself? You're pathetic!" While he ranted he stood up to get his coat. "I can't stand your ignorance, I'm leaving." He rushed out of the restaurant. Due to Draco's inability to use magic undetected, Harry was able to catch up with him rather quickly after settling the business at the restaurant.

Harry could have just let it go and leave Draco to live out his fit alone. He was impressed and irritated by the hypocrisy Draco displayed. But returning to his grand empty house sounded too depressing and the mere thought of it accelerated his step. He desired to see more of the ambivalent man, who didn't seem to be able to decide who to be in front of Harry. Someone who seemed to Harry was equally socially inept. He wanted to know more about the blazing flame that lived within pale white skin, lurking under pale blond hair. Harry was fondly reminded of his stalking in sixth year. But this time his motivation was without malintent.

"Wait, Draco." Harry grabbed the arm of the other man and felt the angry magic that whirled through the limb not allowed to be put to use by its owner.

"I'm aware that I live in a very secure and isolated bubble, but after the war it was a necessity. I can only imagine how many assaults you have encountered, but believe me when I say, that I had to endure those, too. The too friendly and the too hostile ones."

After a while Draco relaxed and sighed. "Oh yeah, the too friendly violence is always the worst." he deadpanned frowning at Harry's hand on his arm. Harry hurriedly let go of Draco, blushing while hoping the other wasn't going to run away again.

"You want to go back or would you prefer a place more private?"

Draco cocked his head and whispered coyly "Private, like your home?"

Harry rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, if asked he would admit to a certain amount of nerves "Well, that is in London two hours by train from here. Actually, I meant a hotel room, or something."

The emotions sunk from Draco's face. Harry went hot with embarrassment of the innuendo. But before he was able to deny any implications, Draco purred. "Quite eager, aren't you, Potter. Shouldn't have buried yourself alive at home after all. This kind of pressure builds up." He brushed an invisible spot from his sleeve and continued nonchalantly. "Does this hotel have a bar? It would be much more suitable for our situation." A final look at his nails and Draco dared Harry with a mocking smile to oppose him.

Relieved, Harry hung his head. "Sounds great." Thus he smiled warmly at Draco and lead to a Hotel he ones stayed at with Ron when Hermione had a pre-parturition fit. They had drunken so much in a pub and hadn't had the confidence to apparate back to Grimmauldplace in one piece.

Anticipation boiled in Harry's guts. Draco's hot and cold behaviour gave him almost a whiplash. But he preferred alternating sexual innuendoes and insults in comparison to the loud empty clicking of the Black's grandfather clock. Harry silently vowed to pursue an association with Draco Malfoy, until he was told to piss off deliberately.


	4. At the Bar

**At the Bar**

The barkeeper stood behind a black wooden counter, mixing a martini, when Harry and Draco sat down in front of him. He nodded at them with the disinterest of the stereotypical butler and murmured "Good evening", while letting an olive plop into the glass.

Skimming the menu Harry suggested "The Cuba Libre was excellent last time." Turning the page of the booklet Draco shrugged "I don't care. I'll have a Gin Tonic and a chicken sandwich." He nodded at the barkeeper and turned towards Harry, who still pondered his choice.

With hardly any idle time Draco huffed in hopefully pretentious exasperation "You are the worst company I've ever had, counting a madman and his crowd at the Manor." Harry rolled his eyes at him and quickly ordered randomly, before Draco could jump up and flee. Again. Whatever reasons Harry would have to come up with afterwards, they were important enough to want to hold Draco's company just a little while longer.

"Well Draco, what are you doing here in Bristol?" Draco shook his head, still irritated at Harry's almost hermitic lifestyle.

But somehow Harry's persistent silence and attentive demeanour must have won him over, because he started in a bored voice.

"I work here in a muggle office, that collaborates with the Ministry of Magic. We check on people who had contact with magic, for remaining difficulties. It's part of my sentence until the trace will be taken off of me."

Harry frowned. "I thought it was three years on probation without the trace. I was there, when they announced it at the trial." Draco rolled his eyes at him.

"Of course you did." He orientated his upper body towards Harry and started a heavy eye-ontact thing, which made it really hard for the brunet to follow the story. "After a year I was retried. There was a huge feature in the _Daily Prophet_. They even used a coloured picture to catch my 'ashen face'." He signalled the quotation-marks with his hands, smirking at Harry, who didn't feel like smiling at all at this surprising turn of... trial sentences.

"Why? Your trial was almost four years ago, since a year you should have been free to do as you please. Is that even allowed?" Harry ruffled agitated through his hair, his thoughts jumped from Hermione, who obviously intentionally failed to inform him about the retrial and Kingsley, who might be able to change the verdict again.

Draco took a sip from his drink and send him a sly smile. "I'll always do as I please, at the moment a little more restricted than I'm used to, but I manage." Draco dipped the lemon slice into the ice of his drink, drawing Harry's attention on his slender, but strong, hands. They were pale, doubtless like the rest of his body, and held no imperfection, with smooth skin around his nails, that shone in the damp light of the establishment.

Before he was able to hint on the possible reasoning behind the change, Draco went on. "I had a little trouble with my supervisor. The story filled the front page of the Prophet for a week." Draco went on with a low innuendo, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry.

"What problems?" Harry enquired sternly.

"Why don't you just read the paper, Potter?" Draco sounded a little annoyed now and Harry replied in a teasing manner to soothe the strained atmosphere, especially, because his own equilibrium seemed to swirling along with the lemon in Draco's drink.

"I thought you are a much more reliable source when it comes to your life." Luckily Draco picked up on the notion and took the seriousness out of the atmosphere by going along with a light tone.

"That indeed, but the paper is much more patient than me." He smiled blazingly at Harry, who almost lost his train of thought wondering why Draco didn't smile more often. He escaped the influence by taking a gulp of his pint, that arrived discreetly with the gin tonic while they were talking. Mumbling into his drink he flashed Draco the puppy eyed look, that he frequently used on Molly.

"If I promise to read the article afterwards, will you tell me? I don't want to be influenced by the written words of people I don't even know." He shot Draco brimming eyes and a pouty mouth.

Instead of an explanation Harry received his reward in a seemingly wholehearted laughter. Draco's head tilted slightly back, his shoulders lifted up and amusement clung to his cheeks as well as eyes.

"Potter, that was great! If I would trust you and had at least an A Cup this would have worked just fine!" He sniggered into his beverage. "I would have put you into my stylish purse and brought you home to present you with a jar of cookies and milk, before I'd tuck you into bed. Hell, you just made it worth it, that I endured the shit you gave me earlier, without punching you." Draco wiped an imaginary tear away.

Harry smiled back at him, solely from confusion. Whiplash is friendlier than Draco's mood swings. "You sounded like Ron, just now." At Harry's words Draco switched immediately to a snarl.

"Dim-witted? Your insults are getting better by the minute, such a gift."

Harry send him a lopsided grin, that just cried for maintaining a calm, bright mood. "No. You sounded like a close friend."

Draco startled but quickly grabbed the cloth above his heart and fluttered his eyelashes at Harry. "I'm quite the actor myself, Harry. I learned from the best."

"Your dad?" Harry eyed him sceptical. "He had the cold disdain to a T, but I doubt he'd be able to fake utter joy like that."

Draco's cheeks flushed slightly pink. He cleared his throat and scrunched his nose as if he smelled something fishy. And if it weren't for his defined Malfoy-looks Harry would have thought Narcissa Malfoy sat before him, when Draco started talking in a haughty tone. "There are some useful things a boy can learn from his mother. Observe." He pretended to throw a scarf over his shoulder and flipped the bangs above his ear.

Harry erupted in laughter, amused and impressed by the skill Draco showed a glimpse of.

When he settled down he glanced at Draco, noticing the warmth that seemed to spread from the former Slytherin. "How is your mother doing? I always wanted to thank her in person for the help during that night."

Draco needed some time to respond, but Harry was glad that he finally answered in earnest. Probably.

"She is fine. A little piqued that I spend less time at the Manor, but since father is back, she has enough to concern herself with." He nestled at the sandwich in front of him, that arrived a few seconds prior and continued, throwing Harry a sparkling glance.

"And I'm fairly sure, you thanked her enough by testifying and keeping her out of Askaban." Harry felt really good at that. He wanted to bask in the softness of Draco's words and expression. Hoping Draco would stay in the mood he decided to ask about something Hermione informed him some time ago.

"When did your father got out?" Harry wasn't sure he liked the thought of Lucius Malfoy wandering magical streets and dispersing some more or less deadly artefacts.

"Two years ago."

Harry growled. In retrospect he should have known it wasn't a safe conversation topic between them. "He only served two years? What about the other twenty-three years he deserved?"

Harry quickly regretted his outburst. A shadow crossed Draco and he changed to his colder personality instantly.

"No Malfoy deserves to stay longer than two years at a hideous place as Askaban the second time around." The undercurrent of his snobbish statement was grieved and Harry patted him on the back like he would have done with Ron. Strangely it calmed him down considerably, too.

"I'll try to find out who you bribed to get him out tomorrow by reading the Prophet." Harry tried to soothe the blonde man, still rubbing circles on his back and marvelling at the feeling of rough skin sticking on the soft material of Draco's shirt.

Draco snorted and relaxed under Harry's warm hand, deadpanning: "That's easy. Look on page 6, there is always a chart of the people I corrupt. And stop destroying my shirt with your calloused hands, plebeian."

Harry laughed, although he wondered how great the hint of truth in the former statement was. A little nervous he tried to play along. "So tomorrow I'll find my name in there, too? A mere plebeian like me?" He searched for a glimpse of deception mapping the face of the quite beautiful man.

Draco stared back, a slow predatory smile spreading from his lips to his eyes. "You are far too important to be less than on the first page, oh Chosen One." A shiver run down Harry's back starting with a tingle on his shoulder-blades getting icy cold right above his bottom. He couldn't pinpoint the emotion behind it. He felt like prey, however he certainly didn't want to flee, but instead stay. He felt good, really good.


End file.
